That will be thirty seven dollars sir...

The mention of the price emanates from the raspy voice of the cab driver. His grizzled, hairy, dark features staring awkwardly over his shoulders into the face of an anxious World Heavyweight Champion. The shreds of Hurse's ripped clothing continue to hang over his wiry, pale flesh while he apprehensively glances through the window, staring at the apartment complex inhabited by one Robin Brooks. Amongst other pointless, irrelevant people as well, kind of like Aurora Rose. His eyebrow is raised almost to the point of adding to his hairline, where sweat is produced in pints that dribble down his blushing features. Blushed not because of excitement or admiration, but from nervousness and fear. His shivering fingers hesitantly extend for the door handle, about to step out into the slightly chilled night air. All the while he couldn’t help but to wonder how peeved Robin would be, seeing as the hour was growing late, and he had made the frantic phone call to her so early in the day. It stirs questions in his already troubled, beleaguered mind, contemplating rather he should still go through with what he had planned, if now was the right time to consummate their affection for one another. The Cabbie seems to be getting anxious as well, but hopefully for an entirely different reason, his eyes remain locked on the rearview mirror, unfortunately providing him a view of the current IWC World Champion.

Cabbie: Sir, the fair is thirty seven dollars and the meter is still running.

Hurse can’t bother with the price of the trip from the soup kitchen to Robin’s apartment, he already has too much on his overworked mind. The time is now though, he realizes, his fingers slipping around the handle of the car-door, about to pop it open to step out onto the sidewalk before that same old reliable lump returns to his throat and further doubt seeps in.

Hurse: Circle around the block again.

An exasperated groan comes from the Cabbie, who is growing terribly impatient with Hurse’s stalling tactics, as well as with the burden of his company. He extends his arms across the backs of the front seats then turns enough to meet Hurse eye to eye.

Cabbie: You do have the money right? Your not trying to get out of my paying me are you? We’ve circled the block four times already, and I’ve already told you again and again that I washed and sanitized those door handles.

The mere insinuation that Hurse, a World Heavyweight Champion would be incapable of paying a meager fare results in a snicker.

Hurse: Come on, this is Steven Parkwood your talking about here. Two time World Heavyweight Champion. Do I look like the type who would be unable to pay you?

The Cabbie gives him a quick once over with his eyes, hesitating to respond though as he examines the ripped clothing, the bruised flesh, and hair is disarray, all the results of a hectic day for one Mr. Hurse.

Cabbie: Yeah, actually you do. And you kind of smell like urine too.

Hurse: Just circle the block already. You Cabbies aren’t paid for your witty observations, otherwise you’d be stand up comedians, and I don’t watch Comedy Central!

Bewilderment sweeps over the greasy features of the Cabbie, not sure what to make out of what he just heard.

Cabbie: Wha?

Hurse: Less chit chat more driving. Now go, or you can completely forget about your tip. I’ll gladly spend this George Washington elsewhere if your not careful.

Currency in the form of a single dollar bill is lifted into the air in front of Hurse’s face, making sure the agitated Cabbie gets a good glimpse of it. Instead of being overjoyed by the prospect of such a tremendous tip, that was sarcasm by the way Aurora, the Cabbie turns back towards the steering wheel, shaking his less than adequately clean head.

Cabbie: Oh joy, finally I’ll have enough to put my kids through college.

The cab takes off again, pulling out onto the street where there’s very little traffic at this hour of the night; a time where most the world have already succumb to the temptations of sleep. Not Hurse though, he continues to pine over the doubt that has once again settled into his tightened chest, leaning back in the seat and thinking about Robin’s face. How she’d either be overwhelmed with joy to see him, or outraged by the mere sight of his arrival. Perhaps he was just using this as an excuse, to delay the one thing he knew would prove his love for Mrs. Brooks. Not the big breasted tranny in TNA, the cute one in IWC, the one with actual talent. The seats squeak and groan as Hurse slithers down deeper into them, his knuckles placed to his lips with his elbow buried against the door, staring up into the passing streetlights, his thoughts antagonizing him endlessly.

Cabbie: So, now that I know money isn’t the issue....

The Cabbie briefly rolls his eyes.

Cabbie:... What are you stalling for man?

The audacity of such a lowly individual to pose a question to him, as if the Cabbie would really sleep easier at night knowing what troubled Hurse. But since he had an audience, Steven figured what the hell.

Hurse: Pfft, like you’d care. It’s a long story, much longer than a combination of all Aurora Rose’s promos from this past year in fact.

Cabbie: Well, if we’re going to be circling the block all night we might as well as talk about something, right? So come on partner, what’s with these stalling tactics?

Steven is bemused by all these questions, all these redundant inquires, and after a day like today everything is becoming hard to deal with. Finally, to shut up the Cabbie, since it be much more appeasing for Hurse to hear his own voice, and to vent at the same time, Steven responds.

Hurse: Although it’s none of your business, as it never is for any of you highly insightful characters who just miraculously show up in our promos, I’ll allow you to reference my previous, award winning productions from the past to answer your questions. In words you, or Aurora Rose would understand, just think back to one of my many promos from this past year to discover the answer for why I’m so irritated, because I know you had to have seen them all. Actually, if I were speaking in words Aurora could understand, I’d have to use a whole lot of clicks, whistles, and generic observations.

Again the Cabbie sends a confused scowl through the rearview mirror back at Hurse, not even watching the road as he moves around a slow moving station wagon in front of them.

Cabbie: What the hell is a promo?

Hurse’s entire palm opens to take in his face, which becomes twisted with animosity.

Hurse: Why am I the only person in this federation who never runs into a life long fan of the IWC, or myself?

Cabbie: Oh, IWC, I love that show. You on it?

Now Hurse’s fingers are trembling in outrage, trying to control his outburst as they dig into the milky skin stretched over his boney face.

Hurse: I’m the World Champion for crying out loud! How could you watch IWC and not know who I am? And more importantly, there’s an even bigger gap between not knowing what a promo is, and yet inexplicably having knowledge of the IWC. None of this makes any sense. You know what, this conversation is over, just drive.

The Cabbie shrugs his shoulders and finally keeps his eyes on the road for more than a few moments instead of driving instinctively, bobbing and weaving through slight congestions in traffic. Those late night drivers losing consciousness as they listen to Aurora Rose’s promos through their car radios.

Cabbie: Seriously though man, why do you have me up at this hour, driving in circles past this apartment building. It’s a woman isn’t it?

Hurse removes his hand from his eyes, gazing forward at he back of the driver’s head, where a collection of muddled black hair protrudes from his scalp. By observing Hurse’s reaction in the rearview mirror the Cabbie realizes he stumbled onto the source of the problem.

Cabbie: Yep, it’s a woman alright. They tend to be responsible for 99.9% of all the problems in the world after all.

Hurse: Your preaching to the choir. And believe me choirs can be quite hostile when you disrupt a Baptism by throwing an infant out of the water.

Cabbie: Um, yeah. How’s this one working you over man. Alimony? Baby Mama drama? Working up the nerve to go in there and tell her off?

Hurse: I wish it were that simple. I’d give anything for this to just be about some crack head ex trying to steal my babies away from me, mostly because I have no emotional or biological attachment to any children. And most of them are quite gruesome nowadays, with those big heads and beady little rat eyes. I tell you, I can only imagine what a kid would look like coming out of Aurora Rose, but thankfully I’m sure Seth Owens has already been chemically castrated to prevent such an occurrence. I mean, a man would definitely not have the use of his penis if he were dating Aurora.

The Cabbie has got Steven hooked now before the World Champion could even realize it. Before he catches himself in the act, Steven goes on to recite his laundry list of troubles. Belly aching like only Steven Parkwood could do.

Hurse: But no, it has nothing to do with anything you just mentioned. As this isn’t an Aurora Rose promo where the standard, cliche troubles bombard my life.

Cabbie: Now you’ve got me intrigued. You’ve got to tell me what’s up?

Again the Cabbie’s eyes are locked on the rearview mirror, cutting between those few cars that lumber along the street.

Hurse: Well, it just so happens my lady’s ex boyfriend has come back into the picture, and threatens to disrupt a good thing that Robin and I had going.

Cabbie: Wait, Robin Brooks?

With a roll of his eyes and a sigh Steven replies.

Hurse: Grrr, yes.

Cabbie: She’s one foxy lady man. Boy, I’d give my left nut too..

Hurse: HEY!

Steven is outraged by what he just heard.

Hurse: How the hell do you know her, and not me? I’m pretty much the whole damn focus of that show. And besides, who the hell uses the description “foxy lady” anymore?

A shrug of the shoulders if the Cabbie’s best response, clearly having no other justification for being unaware of Steven’s apparent celebrity status. Nevertheless, with a groan Steven continues.

Steven: Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted once again. This bastard has come back into her personal life and threatens everything that she and I have worked so hard to create. It’s appalling that he thinks he can re-enter the picture and assume that he and Robin will pick right up where they left off, only to ditch her yet again in just a few more months. It makes me more sick than watching one of Aurora’s redundant crisis’ exploited and placed on film for the harassment of the viewing audience, however small it might be. But I wouldn’t be so outraged by it if Robin didn’t get that twinkle in her eye every time he comes around, wondering if he’ll be able to give her something I’ve been incapable of supplying her with.

This revelation seems to further intrigue the Cabbie, who makes one of the last turns before ending up in front of Robin’s apartment complex once again.

Cabbie: Why don’t you just put this Killjoy guy in his place? Isn’t that what you wrestling types do, usually while wearing tight fitting spandex?

Hurse: Heh, I don’t think that would solve the problem. I need to make Robin realize why she fell in love with me in the first place.

Cabbie: Then do it, damn, it’s not that hard man. What is that fine lady expecting you to do?

Finally having somebody who will listen to his problems, instead of usually dumping them onto Desolation’s answering machine, Hurse scoots forward eagerly in his seat so that the Cabbie can hear the source of all his troubles.

Hurse: Well, that’s the biggest problem, I have to sleep with her.

The cab comes to a screeching halt just a few feet away from Robin’s apartment, Hurse being launched face first into the plexiglass that separates him from the driver then being thrust back into his seat. He grabs at his eye, which was already swollen enough due to a few well timed jabs from an enraged Priest earlier in the evening. The Cabbie turns, his head almost moving on a swivel, his eyes appearing like something out of the movie the Exorcist. They are devoid of life

Cabbie: You mean to tell me we’ve been driving around this apartment building for an hour because you don’t want to go in and have sex with Robin Brooks?

Even though his face is killing him after getting squashed against the glass Hurse is able to raise his shoulders, tilting his head while nodding it.

Cabbie: Get the hell out of my cab right now.

The order both shocks and frightens Hurse, who’s eyes dart back and forth frantically, wondering if anyone can save him from the outraged Cabbie glaring at him with the coldest eyes in the world.

Hurse: What?

As if he didn’t hear him the first time.

Cabbie: I said get the hell out of my cab before I break my foot off in your ass. Go on, get, get!

Hurse: But don’t I have to pay you?

Steven questions while digging his hands in his pockets, searching for the cash and for an excuse to stall even further.

Cabbie: I don’t want your damn money you freak, now get the hell out of my cab!

The last barking of orders in a very hostile tone forces Hurse to open the car-door and hop out onto the street, the cabbie cussing under his breath throughout the process.

Cabbie: Crazy fool, having me out here all hours of the night because he doesn’t want to have sex. What kind of person in their right mind gets so fucking terrified at the thought of sex. Freak!

The cab takes off with smoke being produced from the tires, almost departing too quickly for Hurse to close the door and move out of the way. Hurse is left standing in the street, watching the cab speed away into the darkness. He doesn’t know rather he’s more concerned by the judgmental manner in which the Cabbie responded to his problems, or the fact that he’s now left with no excuse but to enter Robin’s apartment building. His eyes nervously move up each story to the floor Robin is no doubt waiting in. Or maybe she fell asleep, perhaps he should call another cab and go home to avoid waking her. Just as he removed the cell phone from his pocket he stomps his foot and sinks his teeth into his lower lip, balling his fists in anger, swinging them at the air around him for invading his personal space.

Hurse: GOD DAMMIT! Come on Steven, quit being a panty-waist and get in there!

He buries his head into his shoulders, sticks out his chest and marches forward in the direction of the double doors that lead into the apartment complex. He steps onto the stoop, overlooking the numbers on the wall beside the door, trying to find the right one to push in order to communicate with Robin long enough to get buzzed into the building. There it is, “Brooks,” written in bold lettering to the side of the circular white button. This is the moment Hurse has been both anticipating and dreading as his finger rises, slowly approaching the button while trembling. He can’t seem to bring himself to do it though. After all this time, after the hell he endured to get here, he’s now frozen right on Robin’s doorstep, again second guessing himself like the coward that he is.

Hurse: You can’t do this Steven, just admit it to yourself, your not like other people. Thankfully of course. You can’t do this to Robin though, you’ll completely crush her faith in you. You know damn well Stevie Boy, if you go in there and have sex with her, she’ll never call you again. Ever. It will be over. She’ll never call you, she’ll never write, she’ll probably have to become a lesbian. I just can’t do that to her. I can’t handle this pressure. Unlike all those other women in my past, I actually want to be with her, but I can’t put her through this. You know what you have to do Steven. You know its your only option. Let her be happy, let her run back to Killjoy. Don’t let her see who you really are Steven, don’t let her see who you really are. It’s time for you to do the manly thing. No, not that other thing that would provide her with momentary pleasure. I’m talking about doing something that will give her long lasting satisfaction, setting her free. You press that button Steven H. Parkwood, you step through these doors, you march up those stairs, you look her in the face and you do exactly what Desolation told you to do, break this off before it goes too far! Do it Steven, do it, do it, do it.

His forehead thumps against the concrete around the buzzer, trying to psyche himself up, attempting to pound it into his head. A loud buzz can be heard from beside him, slightly behind him as well, Hurse turning as the door opens and a late night prowler emerges, heavily intoxicated. They seem barely able to stand while staggering forward and almost falling off the stoop, but thankfully, in there drunken disorderly behavior, they left the door open for Steven. He steps around it, squeezing his body inward with his palms out in front of him as he slips around the door into the building, not wanting to touch it however.


The elevator doors finally open and allow Hurse a clear view of the long hallway that eventually leads to Robin’s apartment. Yet he fails to emerge from within it, he just stands there, glaring forward with tremendous anxiety, realizing that things are not going to be pretty. That he’s going to have to make a decision that will stick with him for the rest of his life. Before the elevator doors could close Steven tightens his body and slips through them, again fearful of touching them with his exposed hands. Hurse makes his way up the hallway, his eyes scanning each door to see which one belongs to Robin, almost forgetting her apartment number in this whole fray.

Hurse: Jesus, just stop thinking about it Steven. Be like Aurora when she goes to produce a promo, and completely shut your brain off. You know what must be done, this whole thing has got to end.

He mumbles to himself before his chest heaves, filling with his breath that seems to be stuck there, incapable of making it out of his throat, for he now eyes Robin’s front door. He stands there, tensed, every muscle tightened and trembling. Before he can stop himself, on pure adrenaline alone he raises his fist and knocks at the front door while anxiously glancing about his surroundings. After briefly swiping his hand against his already dirtied pants leg he begins to recite exactly what needs to be said.

Hurse: Robin, I’m sorry but it’s just not working out. No, no, that’s not good. Robin, it’s you, it’s not me. Was that backwards, I’m not sure? Robin, I’m afraid if I see you naked you might have webbed toes and I just can’t deal with that. No, that’s terrible. Robin, I care for you, but I’m afraid it can never go past what we have together. There, that’s almost good enough to be in a Hallmark Break Up card, which I’m sure Aurora has received plenty of.

The sounds of footsteps can be heard coming from inside the apartment, getting ever so much closer to the front door. Hurse’s breaths become thicker, harder, trying to build up the courage to do what must be done.

Hurse: This is it Steven, this is it. Time to let her go. Time to let her go.

The door slowly becomes ajar, the sight of Robin’s eyes coming into the crack of open space, staring out from under the chain that locks the door. Hurse forces a large smile to his face, trying to look normal even when being driven crazy with emotions.

Robin: Steven.... I didn’t think you were still coming.

She says all this basically through the door, still speculatively glaring at Hurse in the hallway, who continues to wear that toothy grin on his face.

Hurse: Well here I am. Just had some minor trouble getting here is all. Listen Robin, we really need to talk.

Brooks: Ugh, is that what was so urgent?

She closes the door all the way, unlatching the chain while still speaking to Steven, who takes this moment to curse himself under his breath.

Robin: Okay, I’ll let you in I guess, but I don’t look my best, I just got out of the shower.

The door swings open, Hurse opening his mouth to deliver what should be an infamous break up speech. Suddenly he finds himself frozen though, incapable of producing even the slightest sound, not one meep, not one little mumble. For his eyes are opened just as widely as his mouth at the sight of the water trickling down Robin’s almost entirely exposed body. A towel is haphazardly wrapped around her, just enough to cover her unmentionables, while the rest of her stunning body is clear as day, glistening with water. The only movements from Hurse are the pockets of drool building in the corners of his mouth. A bewildered Robin tilts her head, staring at Steven in confusion.

Brooks: What happened to you?

Her eyes scan the battered, torn surface of Steven’s still motionless frame. There comes no response from him though, which only adds to the confusion in Robin.

Brooks: Well, do you still want to come in?

Although no words come from his mouth Hurse nods in a very slow manner, still shell shocked by the beautiful specimen that is standing before him. Yet he doesn’t budge from the doorway, he just continues to stand there, ogling Robin. Finally she reaches out and grabs hold of his torn and ripped shirt, using it to drag him inside. Hurse remains rooted to the floor, like a plant growing out of the carpet while staring towards Brooks who in a slightly agitated state makes her way towards her bedroom door.

Robin: Just give me a minute to get dressed. I’ve been out with Baily most the day and didn’t get a chance to catch a shower yet....

Hurse: NO!

With raised eyebrows she turns to stare at Steven, still looking breathtaking, which the sight of her has done to the World Champion. Left him breathless.

Robin: Um, what?

Hurse: No clothes! Bedroom! Now!

This jumbled usage of words only further puzzles Brooks, who’s eyebrows flinch with questions. She tilts her head slightly to stare at Steven, who if he had a tail it surely be wagging with excitement at this point.

Brooks: Huh?

Hurse: Oh to hell with this!

Hurse rushes forward, bending down and burying his shoulder into a unsuspecting Robin’s gut, lifting her into the air before stepping towards her bedroom door. Brooks is kicking her feet while draped over Hurse’s shoulder as if she were an expensive mink scarf of some sort.

Robin: Steven, what are you doing!?! Put me down!

Failing to abide by her demands, Hurse kicks the door open and rushes inside with great speed and energy. No other sounds can be heard emanating from the room before a radio kicks in loudly, pumping out some all too familiar tunes.

Ice, Ice, Baby

The music causes a loud groan to come from Hurse. Audible enough even to be heard from the hallway.

Hurse: Dammit, where is Luther Vandroes or one of those fat romantic singers when I need them? Oh, nevermind!

The door leading into the bedroom swings shut emphatically.


LATER THAT EVENING

The sheets on Robin’s bed are pulled up just enough to cover the presumably naked frames of both Hurse, and Mrs. Brooks that loom beneath it. They are spread across the mattress with Robin in Hurse’s arms, the side of her head pressed against his chest with a healthy sweat collected across their bodies. Robin unleashes a sigh of satisfaction while Hurse does the same, both of them basking in the joy of one another’s company after the moment they’ve both been anticipating for some time. Brooks is in the middle of smoking a cigarette, yes, cliche, but who cares, while Hurse just sinks into the pillows, trying not to worry just yet. That’s before Robin turns her eyes to meet with his, the moment he was dreading having finally arrived.

Robin: It’s about time!

She says this threateningly but in a joking mood that causes Hurse to grin nervously. Surprised that she didn’t go running, screaming into the night once their eyes crossed one another.

Hurse: So, you weren’t creeped out or anything?

The question strikes Robin as particularly puzzling.

Brooks: Why would I think that?

The anxiety and fear lifts from Hurse, no longer nervous, more relieved than ever, his arms cuddling Brooks a little more tightly. She slowly removes the cigarette from her mouth and lifts it towards Hurse’s lips, Steven debating rather he should takes it or not. Finally he does, inhaling the smoke before smiling. That’s until he begins to choke violently as the cigarette tumbles from his mouth to the sheets below.